It started as any other day before it. Awoke from a melodic stupor, headset now entangling his neck and head with the faint sound of Rachmaninov bellowing from beneath the foam inserts. This is how to start the day, he thought. Its hard to wake in a less than pleasant mood with the wonder that is music accompanying your stages of consciousness. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and tapping the iPod’s pause button, he cast the headset beside and made his way to a more upright position. Now the dance, the game your body and brain play as to when is the correct time to stand to your feet. After playing limb cat and mouse, the game ends and he finds his way to the bathroom for much needed, grooming and less needed adoration. After spending more than enough time to make oneself presentable, complete with suit and tie matching, there is just enough time to stop by the farmers market for quick nourishment.

Walter was very clean cut, and very precise about his outwardly appearance. Even walking past storefronts with high level glass was a daunting task. Pausing almost after each pane as though somehow the image prior was different. After stopping off at the market for his ritualistic Faxseed and Millet bagel, he then drives to 15th street off Wilshire and 22nd. His second home for almost twelve years. In that span of time he has learned many things. One such thing has eluded him though. He wasn’t liked. Not even in the slightest. People knew his name, yes. His reputation as a cut throat prosecution lawyer indeed shadowed him. “It’s the price of success.” He would often think, as to somehow coalesce the image versus any real social life.

Every morning was a complete copy of the next. The play watched from behind his windshield was all the same. The scene from up and coming college grads with heads bigger than their briefcases to the stoic who’s audible grunts from walking up steps cranes heads in shear wonder.

More to come!